


I've Been Dead Before

by The_Chronographus



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Brief Mention of "Death Comes to Time", Episode Fix-It: s09e10 Face the Raven, Gen, Loophole Abuse, Regeneration (Doctor Who)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:54:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24928738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Chronographus/pseuds/The_Chronographus
Summary: The Quantum Shade was promised a life and no one can break that contract. Fortunately, the Doctor has lives to spare.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22





	I've Been Dead Before

She stares at the Doctor's strange, sad, smiling face. She repeats, pleading with her eyes but not daring to stop smiling.

“We we can _fix_ this. Can't we? We always _fix it_!”

The Doctor's voice is soft as he answers, simply: 

“No.”

And that's wrong, that's all wrong. It's not that she thinks there _must_ be a way to fix it. She's increasingly aware of the possibility that she got it wrong, and there is no way to fix it, and she's going to die in a few moments. Maybe it would be a fitting end for the story of Clara Oswald. But if she knows the Doctor — especially this Doctor — then he shouldn't be giving up. Not yet. Not ever, if possible. 

“…but _you_ can”, he says, and _there_ it is, he's almost literally pouncing on Mayor Me, desperate, uncompromising. “Fix it. _Fix it now_.”

Mayor Me looks up at the Scotsman from another planet. He's so _tall_ and _imposing_ when he wants to be. Everything about her body language indicates genuine fear and bafflement, although Clara isn't quite trusting her. And the Doctor isn't either. Ashildr told him, centuries ago, that with unlimited training time at her disposal, she could devote however long she needed to becoming superb at anything. A few more hundred years, and she could well have mastered the art of acting.

Still, she seems genuinely shaken as she answers:

“It's-it's not possible. I-I can't.”

“Yes it is,” the Doctor answers readily, taking no arguments. “You can, and you will, or this street will be _over_. I'll show you and all your funny little friends to the whole laughing world. I'll bring UNIT—I'll bring the Zygons—give me a minute, I'll bring the Daleks _and_ the Cybermen. You. Will. Save. Clara. And you will do it _now_. Or I will rain Hell on you for the rest of Time.”

“Doctor, stop talking like that,” Clara says, forcefully.

If she'd spoken just a bit quieter, she has a feeling he might not have listened, but she knows by now just how loud she needs to be if she wants to be heard by misbehaving children. She breaks his momentum; the ominously-looming Time Lord melts back into her friend, panting, confused, panicking.

“What?”

“Doctor, escalation will do no good,” she says, as calmly as she can. “You can't bully a fish into flying.”

“Depends on the fish,” the Doctor can't help but point out. “Now _Jim_ —”

“Hush. This is my life we're talking about. _I'll_ do the talking. _So_. Ashildr. Can you fix this, yes, or _no_.”

“I—I'm sorry. There's nothing I—I can't.”

Seems like the Doctor can't keep quiet for more than one exchange at a time, because he forces himself back into the conversation: “Oh really? That's a _very_ interesting choice of words. Can't you, or _won't_ you?”

“Doctor, I—”

“Because do you want to hear what I think? Here's what I think. I think Rigsy can't take back the Chronolock after giving it up — but _you_ can. I think someone has to die here but it could very well be you. I think it was me who gave you your life back so long ago, and I'm going to have to ask you to pay me back now. _That's_ what I think.”

Clara looks at the immortal Viking girl. Girl, not woman. She can't help but think of her that way, even if she is closer in age to most gothic cathedrals than to a teenager. She doesn't know how to feel about the fact that the Doctor absolutely would, in a heartbeat, kill her for Clara's sake.

“Doctor, I don't _want_ this,” she states out loud, saving Me from answering herself. “ _Please_.”

"Wh—I'm not sure you get a vote!” the Doctor roars. If looks could kill, Ashildr would be scattering ashes already. “Clara, this _creature_ is _killing you_! Weren't you the one who—”

“It wouldn't work,” Ashildr says quickly, desperately. 

“Oh wouldn't it? Why not?”

“The Shade's contract is with me,” she explains. “If I'm destroyed, the Shade is set free. Free to consume every life on this street. Every life in _London_.”

“Oh _that_ 's what you brought to my planet!” the Doctor shouts. “Well that's just _rosy_! Really makes me rethink my view of your character.”

“Doctor, calm down, _please_ ,” Clara pleads again, tears pearling at the corners of her big wet eyes. “If this is the last I ever see of you, _please…_ not like this.”

“Clara, why are you taking this so lightly?!” he stammers incredulously, looking at her as though she doesn't understand her situation. “If we don't do something you are going to _die_.”

“I've been dead before,” Clara quips in reply, forcing herself to smile. 

The Doctor goes very still at that. 

“W- _what_ did you say?”

“Remember? Trenzalore? Your timeline? The Dalek Asylum, Victorian London, Ancient Egypt — I _died_ for you, a thousand times. I don't always remember it, it's hazy, like a dream, but you bet I'm remembering now! I—”

“Nonono,” he stops her. “That thing you said. Those exact words.”

“I've… been dead before,” she repeats dumbly.

Just like that, the Doctor's mind is cast back to his last Scottish incarnation. Standing alone on a field. Near Scotland. Faced with another unsolvable problem. Another companion—dying, unless he can think of something very quickly. Funny how history repeats itself. Although he'll take Ashildr over Tannis any day.

And then to another time, another terrible choice. Same face, different adventure. Another contract with something dark and powerful. He'd owed Death herself something. And he'd managed to pay his debt.

Alright then. No time to lose. 

“Clara, give me the Chronolock.”

“What? But Ashildr said—”

“Ashildr said you can't give it _back_ to _Rigsy_ ,” he corrects her. “I've never had it, have I? Give it to me. _Now_!”

“No! I won't let you do this!” Clara shouts back at him. “The Trap Street needs Ashildr, the universe needs _you_!”

The Doctor smiles his sad smile again; gives a snort of laughter that comes across as more of a sob. “Pfh. Clara… The universe needs _the Doctor_. It doesn't give a fig about _me_.”

Her eyes widen in understanding.

She immediately closes them in concentration, and just like that, the Chronolock moves from her neck to _his_. Then she draws the grumpy old Scotsman into one last tearful hug. One last hug with _her_ Doctor.

It's interrupted by the shrill, slightly echoey cawing of the Quantum Shade.

Craning her head over his shoulder, she sees the countdown. Just under a minute left.

“ _Doctor_ —”

“Clara, it's alright,” he says in a shaky voice. “No time for long goodbyes, but we've been through this before, haven't we?”

“What about her?” she points at Ashildr, drawing away. “Something's going on here. Something more than we've been told.”

“Of course,” he gives her his exaggerated, talk-show-host smile. “Won't that be something exciting for you and the new boy to deal with?”

Trust the Doctor to relieve tension when he's about to die. But maybe there's time to be a little serious, just at the end. Maybe there are things that need saying. 

“Doctor… please be careful,” she says. “I've seen who you became, when you regenerated in a very dark place. Don't be him. Don't be a warrior.”

“I'll do my best,” he said, but then whirled back to Ashildr. “But fair warning, I can be a little _erratic_ when I've just been born. As I said, I'll try my best. But I strongly advise you to _keep out of my way_.”

Ashildr _gulps_. She gives an obedient nod and, seemingly deciding there's no time like the present, ducks into another room. It is at this moment that a haze of black smoke phases through the other wall, reconstituting itself into a malevolent-looking raven. 

“Clara, get back. Now!” the Doctor hurries her. She stumbles backwards a few step, her face a picture of concern. “Hey. Hey. It's okay. I accept this. I failed you today. This is right. Because _maybe_ the next silly Doctor will be better at this. Maybe—”

—and his last words are cut off, because he was looking at Clara's face one last time instead of keeping his eyes on the _raven_ , and the _raven_ has just plunged _into_ his chest, and now it's clawing at his hearts from the inside and he grunts and groans and _screams_ —

Clara rushes to his side as he crumples to the floor, motionless, the wretched death-smoke rising out of his mouth like vapor in winter before becoming, once more, a raven, and flying away. His face is frozen in a screaming death-mask, eyes glazed, and _oh god_ , what if he got it wrong? What if a Quantum Shade could kill a Time Lord permanently? An even more ghoulish thought occurs to Clara — did the Doctor _know_ that? Did he lie so she'd give him the Chronolock — lie so she'd agree to _kill_ him —

—but no. Slow and faint at first, then brighter and brighter, a golden glow of phoenix-flame appears on the exposed skin of his hands and face. Burning away the old, dead Doctor as a new one appears to take his place. A fresh new incarnation, a brand new Doctor — _alive_ and well — opens a new set of eyes and awkwardly pushes herself up to a sitting position with her elbows. The Doctor's eyes catch sight of Clara, who's still standing a few paces away, bemused — the sight of her instantly brings a smile. Ashildr's stepped back into the room on the other side, too, the Doctor can _feel_ her presence. Ooh. Looks like this body is more telepathic than the last. Neat.

“…Phew,” the new Doctor says. “Okay. Right. Well that wasn't so bad. Where were we?”

Clara and Ashildr continue staring. 

“…Why are you all lookin' at me like that? Did I grow another head or somethin'?”

The Doctor pats clumsily at the back of a full head of hair. Okay. No supernumerary faces, she didn't go Janus. That's a relief. Hm. Looks like the hair's pretty long, too. Longer than it's been since she was an old fool travelling with his granddaughter.

Hang on. 

Did she just think ‘ _she_ ’?

“Oooooh. … _That_ 's new.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still not sure why this wouldn't work. Maybe it would have, and the realization of it, mere hours too late, added to the Twelfth Doctor's despair in the Confession Dial? Who knows. Also, if I'm being honest, I think the Doctor regenerating in completely different circumstances, and at a completely different time, should most likely result in a completely different Thirteenth Doctor, but an OC Doctor wouldn't have been as funny as dropping a freshly-formed Jodie Whittaker into the events of the Raven Trilogy (is that what we're calling it these days?), so there you go.
> 
> I think I'll continue this at some point, but no immediate promises. In the meantime, if you took the time to read this, please comment with any praise, criticism, insults, or book deals.


End file.
